


One First Touch My Heart'll Do the Rest

by keepitdreamin



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Daredevil Bingo, M/M, do some digging, very lose interpretation of this prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitdreamin/pseuds/keepitdreamin
Summary: 4 times Foggy did some digging + 1 time Matt did





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the “Do Some Digging” square on my Daredevil Bingo card.
> 
> Title from "Breath and Sound" by Tom Goss feat. Matt Alber.

 

1.

Matt’s packing a bag. Matt’s packing a bag for the _beach_. It feels so _surreal_. He hasn’t been to the beach in… a long time. He can’t remember if he’d gone Before the Accident and went only once After, on a trip with the orphanage. It was… _not_ his favorite thing, and he feigned headaches to avoid any future excursions. It was hot and crowded and full of things Matt’s senses aren’t be a fan of. For one thing, he can’t stand the feeling of sunscreen (it’s greasy and chemically) but if he doesn’t he’ll get burned which is a special kind of torture (he can _feel_ each bit of skin peel off, can _hear_ it even as it flakes). Then there’s _sand_. He tries to avoid the stuff whenever he can because it gets absolutely _everywhere_ and he can never get rid of it all and then he’s left itchy and uncomfortable for weeks. And, just the great, vast _unknown_ of the ocean (too many variables, fish and people and trash, and he can’t make _sense_ of it under water). Matt wouldn’t even consider going ever again except… he was invited. By the _Nelson’s_.

Speaking of which… “You still sure you want to go?” Foggy asks from where he’s packing his own bag on the other side of the dorm. “I know mom basically press-ganged you into this, but she’ll understand if you really don’t want to.”

Matt smiles to himself—that’s the thing about the Nelson’s, they really are the nicest people Matt’s ever met and would accept a no and let it go—as he replied, “No, I’m good to go.”

  


They spend the night at Foggy’s parents house, squished together on his twin bed like they did during Thanksgiving and Christmas, before heading out with the extended Nelson brood the next morning. It’s a long ride, in a small car with Foggy and both his parents and one of his sisters, and it’s exactly the kind of situation Matt hates. But Foggy somehow knew this before Matt could even mention it (he probably wouldn’t have honestly), and he took the middle seat for himself, letting Matt sit by the window. He leans against the cool glass and it helps keep him from getting overwhelmed; his right side is still pressed against Foggy’s but he finds he doesn’t mind.

  


The Nelson’s spill out of the _five_ separate cars a few hours later. Matt steps out carefully, trying to get his bearings after a few hours of recycled car air. The breeze carries salt and it’s momentarily overwhelming. Foggy climbs out after him, cracking his back with a groan. “Whew,” he places a hand on Matt’s shoulder, “we’ve made it to the beach buddy.”

Matt focuses on the point of contact and uses it to center himself and the surroundings. “No, really?” he says dryly and is gratified when Foggy laughs and claps his back again.

The kids start racing to the water with shouts from parents about sunscreen, while the adults unload towels and chairs and coolers. Foggy and Matt end up sitting with some cousins a little older than them with a whole cooler of beer. Matt relaxes on a beach chair (sand is already everywhere but it’s better than sitting on a towel) and wrinkles his nose at the smell of the beer opening. It’s one of his least favorite brands, and even the smell is not appealing to him.

“I know that face. I am _prepared_ for that face!” Foggy says excitedly. Matt cocks his head and listens as Foggy digs through the cooler, finally resurfacing triumphantly with a bottle. “Never fear Murdock. I have brought that fancy ass beer you like.”

Matt takes the bottle with a smile, “Thanks Foggy.” Okay, so maybe the beach won’t be so bad.

-

 

2.

“Honey I’m home!” Foggy calls as he comes into his and Matt’s dorm. “Okay, Matt, you will not _believe_ what my aunt said during...” he trails off as he looks at Matt’s bed. There’s the familiar lump of Matt shaped blankets but with the addition of Foggy’s comforter and quilt on top of that. It’s kind of cool but it’s not _that_ cold. Foggy keeps a wary eye on Matt as he sets his bags down on his own bed before stepping over. “Hey, buddy? You under there?” he asks with a small shake approximately in the shoulder area.

The blankets shift as Matt moves (which, _whew_ , okay, he’s alive at least) followed by a muffled groan and a hoarse, “ _No.”_

Foggy looks at the room _really_ for the first time, and takes in the half empty bottle of cold medicine on Matt’s nightstand, the small pile of cough drops, and the empty box of tissues. “Matt… have you been to health services?” Foggy asks, already suspecting the answer.

There’s a beat or two of silence before Matt offers a weak, “Yes?”

Foggy rolls his eyes and scolds, “Matt. We _talked_ about this, and you _promised_ you’d go to the clinic when you’re sick. What happened?”

The blankets shift again and Matt’s voice is a little less muffled when he replies (his voice is hoarse and tired, but Foggy can still hear the sheepishness), “I didn’t think it was that bad. I’m sorry.”

Foggy sighs—he doesn’t think he’s ever going to not be a sucker for Matt Murdock—and sits on the edge of the bed. “Hey, it’s okay Matty. I can take you down,” he checks his watch, “right now actually.”

Matt groans in what might be agreement might be dissent but Foggy doesn’t care at the moment. “First, we’ve got to get these blankets off.” Foggy stands again and studies the mass. “Are you really using _all_ of our blankets?” Matt grumbles and Foggy takes that as a yes.

“I feel like I’m excavating some hidden gem,” Foggy says after the first two blankets are off. “Or peeling the layers off an onion.” Matt’s laugh devolves into coughs and Foggy pulls away the last few quickly.

Matt smiles up at him weakly when the last blanket is removed. “Hi.”

Foggy can’t help the smile that come on at seeing Matt again for the first time in 3 days, even though he looks _awful_. “Hi Matt.”

Matt coughs and Foggy rubs his shoulder through it. “Come on buddy, let’s get you fixed up.”

-

 

3.

Foggy bursts into the office 3 minutes past 9 and beelines straight to Matt’s office. Matt hits pause on his screen reader and tilts his head as Foggy tosses a stack of papers on Matt’s desk. “Good morning Fog. What do you have there?”

“It took me all night and 3 calls to Marci but I found that precedent Matty!” he crows as he falls into the chair across from Matt.

“For Ramirez?” Matt asks, interested now and running a hand over the papers, biting back a smile when he realizes Foggy had printed it in braille.

“For Ramirez,” Foggy confirms triumphantly before stifling a yawn in his fist.

“This is great Foggy,” Matt says as he reads the top page. “How’d you find this?”

“Its was-” Foggy’s interrupted by a yawn, and when he tries again, by an even bigger one.

“Fog,” Matt says softly, “you want to take a nap in your office?”

Foggy laughs. “Not very professional Murdock.”

“When have we ever been professional Nelson?”

Foggy’s laugh is overpowered by a jaw cracking yawn and he concedes, “Okay, yeah. I’m going to take a little nap. Wake me up for lunch.”

“You got it partner,” Matt gives a mock salute before concentrating on the information _perfect_ for building their case.

-

 

4.

“Why am _I_ the one doing this again?”

The shout is slightly reverberated and muffled from where it’s coming inside of the dumpster, and Matt concentrates to hear the crinkling of plastic bags, the rustle of his clothes, the slight (exaggerated) gag, and smiles from where he’s leaning against the wall nearby.

“Because you volunteered?” he calls back and laughs as Foggy grumbles, cursing New Yorkers and their disgusting trash.

Only a minute later, Foggy calls out, “Got it!”

“You sure?” Matt teases as Foggy hauls himself up the lip of the dumpster.

Foggy huffs a laugh as he climbs out, balancing precariously for a moment on a stack of crates before jumping down unharmed to the alley floor. “Pretty sure. Don’t think there’s many blind people throwing their canes in dumpsters willy-nilly.”

Matt holds out his hand for the cane but Foggy holds it back. “No, dude. This thing needs to be sterilized _heavily_. Which,” he makes a point of exaggeratedly sniffing his arm, “so do I. I’ll meet you back at your place after I shower, okay?”

Matt tilts his head, a little confused, but nods and they part ways.

He’s still mulling over this when Foggy comes by 2 hours later, smelling strongly of his soap and mango shampoo. He’s carrying the cane which smells like the heavy duty “no scent” cleaner he’s been buying since law school (nothing is ever _really_ no scent, but this is the one least offensive to Matt’s nose) and Indian from that place that he claims always makes Matt’s face go wistful and longing when they pass. Matt kind of wants to pull him close and just… breathe him in for a while, but settles for a smile and brushing against his arms as they spread out the food.

“Why _did_ you volunteer?” Matt asks, out of the blue, a few hours later.

Foggy lifts his head from where it’s rested on the arm rest and asks, “Huh?”

“Why did you volunteer to get my cane? I could have gotten it no problem.”

Foggy shrugs (his hair brushes his shoulders and a fresh wave of mango rolls towards Matt). “If dumpsters suck for me, which they do _big time_ , then they must be way worse for you,” he says simply, like this is nothing.

Matt blinks then tilts his head down to his hands, where he’s fiddling with the strap of the cane. There’s still a slight dumpster smell but it’s overpowered by Foggy’s cleaner and the lingering smell of his apartment and his soap where he handled it.

Foggy’s been doing things like this for Matt, not because Matt _can’t_ do something but because he shouldn’t have to by himself, since their first year as roommates. “It’s what friends do,” he’d explained, untying Matt’s shoes when they were both shitfaced. “I’m sure you’d do the same if I wasn’t smart enough to be wearing these dope ass sandals.”

He realizes he’s been silent for a while, with Foggy leaning up on an elbow to look at him, heart beat quick but steady as he waits for Matt to do something. And Matt wants to say something, wants to make a joke or say thank you or articulate that feeling of warmth and _right_ that’s been cropping up more and more frequently. It’s an overwhelming feeling, overpowering his senses (all he smells is Foggy, his soap and shampoo and the sweat underneath; all he hears is Foggy, heartbeat so familiar, hair brushing shoulders, clothes rustling; his fingers itch for Foggy, for the smoothness of his arms when his sleeves are rolled up, the rough slide of his fingers and callouses born from years of study, for the softness of his stomach when they hug) and he can’t say anything, can’t do anything but fiddle with that strap.

He knows when Foggy moves, can feel him sit up to a more upright position, can feel the air change and shift as he leans forward. Can ‘sense’ the arm that reaches out hesitantly, but he still can’t say anything, even when Foggy’s hand wraps around his, stilling his nervous fingers on the strap. “Matty,” he says softly, “say something, please?”

Matt takes a deep breath to try and think but Foggy’s so close, all he gets is a nose full of mango and Indian and something that’s just _Foggy_ and he can’t help but lean into it with a breathy, _“Foggy.”_

Foggy readjusts his hand and the next moment Matt’s being pulled foreword into a hug. The angle is awkward but Matt’s head is tucked in Foggy’s neck, and Foggy’s arm is around his shoulder, holding him close and steady. Matt just breathes. Breathes in Foggy and feels the blood pumping steadily through his veins every place they touch. He can’t speak, but he reaches out and traces on the back of Foggy’s hand. _I love you_.

He keeps doing this and knows the moment it clicks in Foggy’s mind, can feel his heartbeat leap and his muscles tense minutely, and he’s worried, (like he’s told Foggy before, he can heart heartbeats but that doesn’t mean he knows what it _means_ not for sure). But then the arm around Matt’s shoulders tightens and Foggy’s pressing a kiss into his hair, whispering, “I love you too Matty.”

-

 

+

“Matt?” Foggy calls as he wanders through his parents house. They’d come up for the anniversary party and stayed the night, but he’d woken up to a conspicuously Matt-less bed. The house is empty as well, but there are murmurs and laughter filtering in through an open window so he heads toward there. “Matty?” he calls again.

A fresh wave of laughter follows this and his mom calls in, “Back here honey!”

Foggy steps outside to find his mom sitting back on her heels, in her gardening clothes, smiling at Matt, sitting opposite her. “Hey Matty, whatcha doing?”

Matt beams at him and holds up a handful of weeds. His mom answers, “Matthew has been helping me with the gardening while _you_ slept half the morning away.” She raises her eyebrow pointedly and Foggy laughs as he comes forward, settling down so he can lean his cheek against Matt’s shoulder. He catches her eyes and she smiles again, the shining ‘I’m so happy for you smile’ that makes Foggy blush but not move away.

“She’s got you doing the grunt work huh?” Foggy stage whispers.

Matt laughs and tilts his head to press a light kiss into Foggy’s hair. “Are you jealous of the weeds?”

“I’m jealous you’re digging through the dirt and not keeping me warm in bed. Or making pancakes. Pancakes sound really good right now.”

Matt and his mom laugh, and she pulls herself up, nodding down to the two of them. “I guess breakfast wouldn’t be amiss. If you want to finish this off boys, it’ll be ready in a little bit.”

She heads back in and Foggy sighs, leaning back into Matt and relaxing in the sun. “I love you.”

Matt shifts to put one arm around Foggy, placing his hand over Foggy’s heart (he can hear heartbeats he’s said but he still likes feeling the vibrations). “I love you too,” he murmurs, and Foggy grins, covering Matt’s hand with his own and holding it close.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this instead of studying for Russian? Yes, yes I did. (i'm going to flunk that class honestly)
> 
>  
> 
> [Come encourage me to write on Tumblr!](http://www.keepitdreamin.tumblr.com)


End file.
